


All I want for Christmas

by 100PercentRebelTimeLady



Category: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005)
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Fluff, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-11-23
Updated: 2014-11-25
Packaged: 2018-02-26 18:25:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2661950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/100PercentRebelTimeLady/pseuds/100PercentRebelTimeLady
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It’s Christmas day, and with Clara and the Doctor still world’s apart and caught up in each other’s lies, Father Christmas decides it’s time to intervene. Unfortunately things don’t go quite so smoothly when there’s an element of danger involved - after all, Christmas wouldn’t be Christmas on Earth without an alien invasion. Basically my take on the upcoming Christmas special.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> This is more of a prologue, but I wanted to get something posted to generate some interest whilst I’m swamped with university assignments for the next few days.

“What do you want for Christmas?”

The Doctor can only stare in shock at the man dressed rather unmistakably as Santa Claus standing in the doorway to his TARDIS. “What?” He finally manages to blurt out.

“I said, what do you want for Christmas?” The Father Christmas figure repeats.

“No- how did you get in here?” The Doctor’s brain is finally starting to regain a rational train of thought. _Question everything._

“Well if you won’t tell me, I’ll just have to see for myself.” The statement hangs in the air for several moments as the Doctor tries to decipher what exactly this strange man is trying to suggest. Then he’s advancing on him and the Doctor doesn’t have time to register the device in his hand before it’s pressed to the side of his head. He jumps back with a start.

“What do you think you’re playing at?” His eyes are on the device as ‘Santa’ presses a button on the side and peers down at the screen. Then it dawns on him what exactly the small electronic contraption does; it reads thoughts. Specific thoughts, to be exact. You point the device at the intended recipient and it tells you exactly what you want to know. He frowns. “You can’t just go around jumping into other’s people’s heads like that.” He waves a hand flippantly at the infernal contraption as the man continues to peer down at the screen.

“Oh yes… should have been obvious really.” ‘Santa’ mutters out loud. Then his eyes visibly widen. “My, Doctor, you have quite the imagination.” It’s muttered with a raise of his eyebrows and the Doctor’s cheeks flush a shade of scarlet he’s embarrassed to admit his skin can turn to.

“Those are _private_ thoughts! You have no business in taking them out of my head!” He’s on the defensive and suddenly he’s marching towards the man dressed as Father Christmas. One hand is outstretched, and he’s intent on confiscating the device. ‘Santa’ is too quick, and drops it into the depths of one of his pockets.

“Now, now Doctor. How on earth do you expect me to give you your Christmas present if I don’t know what it is that you want? You didn’t send me your list, after all.” His hands come to rest on his hips as he explains the situation. The Doctor continues to look unimpressed.

“I don’t have a list.” He knows he sounds like a petulant child, but it doesn’t stop him from folding his arms across his chest all the same.

“You do now. I have it right here.” The Doctor furrows his brow at that, and watches with some curiosity as ‘Santa’ removes the device from his pocket again. From the bottom, a short slip of paper appears. “Here you go.” He pulls it out and holds it towards the Doctor.

In black, cursive letters read two words: Clara Oswald.

He hadn’t really expected anything else. “That’s not exactly a present.” He mutters barely audibly anyway.

“Well whatever you want to call her, she’s my gift to you this Christmas.” There’s a beaming smile on the man’s face as he makes the remark.

The Doctor frowns. “You can’t just gift a person to someone.” He states matter-of-factly. Then he turns towards the console as though he’s done with the conversation. “Least of all someone who doesn’t want to be gifted.” He mutters under his breath.

One of Father Christmas’ powers must be super-human hearing, the Doctor thinks, because he responds with; “You don’t know what she wants.”

“I know exactly what Clara Oswald wants.” _She did a fantastic job of spelling it out to me_ , he adds bitterly inside his own head – then immediately regrets begrudging Clara the chance to be happy just because it’s not with him. Danny Pink would certainly have a few words to say about Clara being the only thing on his ‘Christmas list’, he thinks.

“Is that so, Doctor? Because the way I see it, if you don’t even know what you want, how on earth can you possibly begin to know what Clara wants?” The Doctor’s Christmas list is pocketed by ‘Santa’ as he poses the question. The Time Lord thinks that he’s already had enough of Christmas for one year.

“This is all a moot point anyway. You can’t give me Clara because she’s not yours to give.” His attention flicks back to the console again, and he starts to fiddle with switches and levers for something to do with his hands.

“I’m not going to give you Clara.” ‘Santa’ states simply.

The Doctor whirls to face him then, his coat tails swirling to flash the red lining underneath. “Then why, pray tell, are you still stood in my TARDIS bothering me?” His patience for dealing with men dressed as fictional beings is wearing incredibly thin.

“I’m not going to give you Clara, Doctor, because you’re going to go get her for yourself.” The smile on his face grows cheerier as he unveils his master plan.

The Doctor looks away again. “No.” It’s a simple enough statement to convey his position on the matter.

“The thing is, Doctor… I don’t think you have a choice. You see, Clara’s in grave danger.” The smile falters on ‘Santa’s’ lips somewhat. It’s the first time the Doctor has wanted to listen to him since he burst into his TARDIS.

“What are you talking about?” There’s a look on his face now. It’s the same look he gets whenever anything comes to threaten Clara – somewhere between worry and ‘if anyone harms one hair on her head I won’t be held responsible for the people I murder.’

“Well, every hero needs a damsel in distress.” And with that, ‘Santa’ is gone; vanished into thin air as though he’d never been there to begin with. The Doctor stares uselessly at the spot he had occupied, before he’s sent falling into the console behind him as the TARDIS takes off.


	2. Things that go bump in the snow

When the TARDIS finally lands, the Doctor is crouched with his back to the console, hands gripping the edge from behind as he stares wide-eyed at the doors opposite. He takes a moment to gather his wits, and then promptly straightens up. His fingers run through the silver strands of his hair, smoothing out the ruffled texture before sliding down to the front of his jacket and straightening out the lapels. Then he’s making a beeline for the door and bursting out into the open.

“CLARA!” He bellows, and then stops dead in his tracks. Instead of finding himself outside her apartment block, he’s confronted with a landscape of thick white snow. His brow furrows as he glances around for some sort of clue as to why the TARDIS has landed them here. Nothing but more snow. He crouches down and scoops a handful of the stuff into his hand. The other dips into his pocket and pulls out his sonic screwdriver, pointing it at the lump of snow and peering down at the device expectantly. Nothing. 

“Turn around!” The shout jolts him from his examination, and he glances up to the sight of four armed soldiers pointing guns at him. Fantastic. With a weary sigh, the Doctor pushes himself to his feet and fixes the group with a bored look. “Really? Couldn’t we manage without the guns? I’m not a fan of-,”

_“Turn around!”_ He’s interrupted by an even firmer demand, and this time he decides it’s probably in his best interest to listen. Slowly, he turns on the spot and raises his arms, presenting his back to the soldiers. He can’t see, but he hears and feels one move closer. The cold, unmistakable sensation of the barrel of a gun pressed to the back of his head has him gritting his teeth to keep quiet. For the briefest of moments, he thinks he might be about to end up with a bullet in his skull. Then he tenses as the back of his collar is roughly tugged down.

“He’s clear!” A distinctly female voice shouts back to the rest of her group. The Doctor lets out a breath he hadn’t know he’d been holding when the gun is finally withdrawn from the back of his head.

“Well, Merry Christmas to you too.” The Doctor greets dryly as he turns around to face the woman he presumes to be in charge of this gaggle of soldiers. The position of her gun in her arms still leaves the end pointed at his abdomen and it makes him uneasy.

“What’s so merry about it?” She responds with an equal lack of good-nature. The Doctor thinks it sounds like a line of his.

“Well that’s not the spirit. Where’s your sense of Christmas cheer? They have a list for people like you, you know.” He explains with a wag of his finger in her direction.

“Enough. I don’t have time for childish nonsense. How did you get here?” Apparently her sense of humour is about as well-versed as her manners.

With a raised eyebrow, the Doctor eyes the woman for a moment before giving a deliberate glance over his shoulder to his TARDIS. “My ship landed here, but let me assure you that it wasn’t deliberate. I didn’t just wake up this morning with a craving for the feel of a gun against my head.”

The woman stares at him for a moment, and then moves to join the other three soldiers standing a few feet back. They talk in hushed voices whilst the Doctor stares on in confusion. Then he distinctively hears the woman bite out: “cuff him.” He rolls his eyes. Humans.

The handcuffs are ice cold against his skin once they’re clamped into place, but he doesn’t kick up a fuss. _Let the humans play their stupid games._ It doesn’t take a genius to notice the thick cloud of fear that surrounds every last one of them. Wherever he is, it’s easy to deduce that it’s certainly not safe. 

“Well this is cosy.” The Doctor remarks as he’s pushed through the snow from behind.

“Keep quiet.” A male voice snaps from behind him. The Doctor finds himself laughing. 

“Oh believe me, that’s the last thing you want if you ever want to get out of this place alive.” At that, he feels a body move closer to his left ear. 

“What exactly are you babbling on about, old man?” The same male voice demands between gritted teeth. _Alpha male – or thinks he is. Lots to prove and not a lot to prove it with._

The Doctor turns his head ever so slightly towards the man behind him, his posture calm and care-free. “I can sense your fear from a mile off – it clings to all of you like a bad smell. There’s something out here in the snow that has you so scared out of your wits that here you are, waving guns around willy nilly and handcuffing people for the crime of simply appearing in your line of sight. You humans always get so paranoid whenever you feel threatened. The slightest whiff of danger and you’re scrambling around in a panic like an ant farm in a rainstorm.” It seems like the wrong thing to say when he’s hauled backwards roughly, the end of a gun pressing hard into his spine.

Then he hears the woman speak up again; “Easy, Drake.” She orders in a hushed, yet firm voice. The gun falls away from his back slowly and then he’s being turned around to face the group of soldiers. The woman is back at the head of the group, and he’s pleased to note Mr. Testosterone sulking like a kicked puppy off to one side. “What did you mean by ‘us humans’? You talk as though you’re not one.” _Well at least someone has half a brain cell around here._

“That’s because I’m not.” The Doctor states simply. A mix of emotions pan across the faces around him. Confusion, disbelief, irritation… fear. He straightens up as best he can with his hands cuffed behind his back. “I’m the Doctor. I’m a Time Lord from the planet Gallifrey, and it’s probably in your best interest to un-cuff me.” He speaks with confidence and authority, and it’s enough to give the woman pause for thought. He can see her weighing up her options in her head and silently prays that she chooses the right one. 

“You’re not seriously going to listen to him, are you? He could be one of them!” Mr. Testosterone pipes up again, and the Doctor regards him wearily. He’s interrupted before he can throw back a reply. 

“He can’t be. He doesn’t have the mark.” The woman answers firmly. The Doctor’s attention shifts back to her as one eyebrow raises in curiosity.

“What mark?” Of course there was a reason they’d insisted on examining the back of his neck.

She regards him for a moment, and then motions for two of the men to turn him around and usher him forward. “Not here,” is all she replies with, before setting off at a brisk walk through the snow.

Several minutes of silence later, a large grey building starts to come into vision amidst the heavy snow. It takes some squinting to make it out, but it’s definitely a base of some description – military, most likely. He frowns at the thought. _More soldiers._

The woman approaches the door first. He listens as she speaks into a panel next to the entrance, a deep male voice responding as she rattles off a bunch of protocol. When she’s finished, the door swings open and he’s ushered inside after her by the two men at his back. Mr. Testosterone takes up the rear, and he’s grateful for the distance.

“Major Reeve.” A short man dressed in standard military uniform salutes the woman as she steps through into the building. Her rank doesn’t surprise the Doctor. As a general rule, soldiers lack intelligence, but she’s certainly a cut above the rest of the ones he’s met today. 

Major Reeve is bombarded with questions as she leads the group of them across the room. The Doctor takes the time to examine his surroundings. The base is smaller inside than it had looked from a distance. The corridor is wider than average, but the ceiling is low and the volume of people rushing back and forth makes it appear all the more cramped.

Finally they reach a door towards the end of the corridor and come to a halt. Major Reeve unlocks it with a key from her pocket and steps inside. He’s pushed in after her, and the five of them are left stood around a large table in the centre of what looks like a strategic planning room, judging by the map sprawled out in front of them. 

“Un-cuff him.” Major Reeve orders simply. There’s a moment of hesitation, but she gives the two men stood at either side of him a look that has one of them reaching for the keys in an instant. The Doctor flexes his wrists once the metal constraints are gone from around them and promptly stretches his arms above his head.

“Did I happen to mention that I hate handcuffs?” He remarks more to himself than anyone else as he takes a moment to relish in the freedom of movement. No one replies anyway, and he comes to rest his hands on the table in front of him. His gaze levels with the Major as he opens his mouth to speak. “So… monsters that hide in the snow.”

There’s a moment of silence before he receives any response. Major Reeve turns and paces the length of the room, then turns back and paces the other way. She stops level with him and lets out a sigh. “It started about a week ago.” She begins with a frown. “Two explorers were found dead north of here. No one would have thought anything of it – freezing to death in the Arctic isn’t uncommon – but what was left of their bodies was little more than skin. It was like someone had come along, peeled their outer layer off and discarded it in tact on the ground.” She grimaces, and continues: “they launched an investigation, sent a bunch of military personnel over to check things out. We sent out patrols daily and didn’t find anything for days. Then one evening before nightfall, a group of soldiers came across a man wandering in the snow. He was taken in, examined and found to have nothing out of sorts about him. Except for a small patch of green, flaky skin on the back of his neck.” There’s another pause, and the major glances away. “No one thought anything of it, until he transformed into something out of the pits of hell itself. One minute he was tall, blonde and distinctly human, and the next he was this great hulk of an alien with teeth the likes of which you’ve never seen and eyes that seems to pierce through your very soul. It killed five of our men before it could be stopped.” 

“Are there more of them?” The Doctor interrupts before she can continue with her story.

“Yes. We found… we found what we believe to be some kind of nesting ground for them. Further north of this base, there’s a dish in the snow – almost like a crater. Beyond that is a cave-like structure, and in there is where we believe they’re hiding.” She explains with her gaze on the whiteboard at the front of the room.

“Well? You’re the military. What’s stopping you from charging in all guns blazing and wiping them all out?” It’s a far cry from a solution, but he wants to know why these soldiers haven’t jumped to their immediate first line of defense.

“Because there are literally thousands of these things. We sent in a drone, and saw them all hanging from the ceiling of this cave. We think they’re hibernating, or sleeping, or just inactive at the moment… but they’re waking up now. Since the first bodies were found, there have been eight more reported deaths, and we’ve no way of knowing whether they’ve managed to make it out of the Arctic and into the rest of the world.” Her expression is grave as her gaze shifts back to meet his. “At this moment in time, no one is safe.”

His thoughts are drawn to Clara with a sudden jolt. You see, Clara’s in grave danger. The words ring in his head like a series of loud, repetitive warning bells. He needs to get out of this place, and fast. 

Without a second thought, he’s pushing past the two soldiers between him and the door and reaching hastily for the handle. It’s tugged open, and he’s halfway out when a hand snags the top of his arm. The Doctor whirls around in a blaze to face Mr. Testosterone’s hardened gaze. He doesn’t have time for games when Clara’s life is potentially at stake. “Let go of me. _Now._ ” There’s a warning in his tone that speaks louder than if he’d shouted the words in the soldier’s ear.

“Or what? Don’t think you can frighten me, old man. You might be able to lie your way out of trouble with this lot, but I’m not buying into your rubbish.” His face has moved to hover inches from the Doctor’s, and his breath his hot as it falls against his comparatively cool skin. 

“On the contrary, I don’t need to frighten you.” The words leave his mouth and an instant later his sonic screwdriver is trained on the speaker on the wall to his right. The high-pitched continuous screech emitted from every one scattered around the base is enough to leave the lot of them doubled over, clutching at their ears in agony. It’s an unpleasant sound to his own ears, but he grits his teeth through the pain and takes off at a sprint down the corridor. 

The distance to the front entrance to the base is short, and before too long he’s bursting out into the snow-ridden landscape outside. Every direction holds nothing more than snow for as far as the eye can see (which isn’t very far at all given the way it falls continuously from the sky), but he remembers vaguely which direction he left the TARDIS in and set off at a run towards that way. 

It takes several moments of searching, but eventually the blue box creeps into focus in the near distance and the Doctor picks up a sprint for the last leg. He bursts through the doors and makes a beeline for the console. All the while, one thought replays over and over in his head: Clara.

He plugs in the coordinates to her home and sends out a silent prayer that the TARDIS bothers to listen to him for once as he pulls down the take-off lever. The flight is less bumpy than the ride here had been – for one he’s able to remain upright. It seems to last longer however, but he thinks that might be a case of simple impatience, as opposed to anything of any real concern to do with his ship.

When they land, he doesn’t think about the last time he saw Clara. He doesn’t think about the lies he fed her to give her the life she deserved, or the way losing her broke him into pieces he hadn’t known he was capable of breaking into, or the fact that Danny may very well be waiting for him at Clara’s side on the other side of the TARDIS doors. He doesn’t think of anything else except keeping her safe.

He steps out of the TARDIS and doesn’t give himself time to think. She’s there, stood in her dressing gown on a rooftop smattered with snow, but there’s no time for staring. “Clara, I want you to step inside the TARDIS. I don’t want you to talk.” He orders with a firm gesture of his finger in her direction. He hasn’t neglected to spot his good old friend ‘Santa’ in the background, and his presence only causes a rise in panic in the Doctor. Whoever the man is, he doesn’t trust him in the slightest. “I want you to do as I ask please.” She’s staring at him blankly, and he pleads with her in an attempt to snap her attention into focus. _Trust nothing._

Clara edges closer to him, and slowly it begins to dawn on him that perhaps it’s been longer since they last spoke for her than it has been for him. Her eyes regard him like a deer caught in headlights, and he thinks perhaps it’s been even longer than he’s imagining now. She reaches out with one hesitant hand to touch his arm. “Yes, I’m really here.” He reassures her gently, but there’s still an undercurrent of panic in his tone. They need to get inside the TARDIS – somewhere he can be certain that no harm is about to come to her. “I’m back.” He breathes, then hardens his voice. “Now get inside the TARDIS.” It’s enough of an order to send her walking past him and through the open doors to his ship.

As soon as the doors click shut, he rounds on ‘Santa’ and his demeanour switches from gentle and reassuring, to cold and threatening in an instant. “I know what this is.” He lies as he steps towards the man. “I know what’s happening.” Another lie – or half of one, at least. “And I know what’s at stake.” He aims to unsettle the man. Whatever he’s plotting – whatever role he has to play in this threat to Clara’s safety – the Doctor vows to put a stop to it.

“I don’t think you do, Doctor.” ‘Santa’ responds in an equally dangerous tone. “But I promise before this Christmas day is done, you will be glad of my help.” It’s a riddle if the Doctor ever heard one, and for the briefest of moments he can only stare on in confusion. Then he snaps himself out of it and takes a step away from the man.

“Happy Easter.” He remarks dryly, and promptly turns to head for the TARDIS. 

“Be sure to save some room for a tangerine, Doctor.” Comes ‘Santa’s’ equally cool reply.

He turns to fix the man with a hard stare. “Nobody likes tangerines.” He throws back, and shuts the doors to the outside world. 

Clara’s waiting for him on the other side of the doors. Her eyes still regard him with the size of dinner plates, and she’s not spoken for so long that he begins to wonder if she’s forgotten how. He takes a step towards her. “Clara-,”  
“Are you really real?” She cuts him off. Her voice is hesitant and there’s a tremor to it. Suddenly he’s struck with an inexplicable urge to comfort her.

“Yes, confirmed. Really real.” He answers with the faintest of smiles. He thinks he shouldn’t be smiling at a time like this, but his body is overwhelmed by emotions at the sight of her and he can’t seem to control his impulses. 

“I thought…” Clara starts, but the rest of the sentence doesn’t come and her bottom lip starts to tremble instead. _Oh no, not the eyes…_

Before he can really think it through, the Doctor is closing the distance between them. “No- no, don’t do that. It’s okay… you’re okay. I’m here now. Everything’s fine.” It’s his best attempt at comfort, and even to his own ears it sounds pretty rubbish. 

When she reached out a hand to cup his cheek, he stiffens briefly but doesn’t move away. The contact is unfamiliar, yet strangely pleasant. Hesitantly, he brings up one of his hands to rest over hers. “See? One hundred percent real.” 

Another moment passes in which they simply hold each other’s gaze, and then finally he watches as Clara’s face splits into a grin. The tears fall freely from her eyes, but she’s smiling so brightly that they don’t seem to matter anymore. Even when her arms come up to wind around his neck he can’t bring himself to shy away. His hands still flail uselessly at her back, but a smile manages to find its way onto his own lips and before long he’s lifting his arms to embrace her in return. 

“I’ve missed you so much.” She breathes into his neck, and suddenly the dangers of the rest of the universe don’t seem quite so important anymore. 

It’s only when he catches a glimpse of the small patch of flaky green skin at the back of her neck that the joy of their reunion shatters into panic and his hearts begin to race in his chest.


End file.
